


four-letter words

by touchmytardis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Childermass being a tease, Lascelles being horny af, M/M, Romance isn't dead, Some crying, VOICE-INDUCED-ERECTIONS, Whipping, a bit of pain, help me this is all I can write now, naughty boys being naughty, sex things I guess, t e a s i n g, trash boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchmytardis/pseuds/touchmytardis
Summary: the continued tale of Lascelles and Childermass.
Relationships: John Childermass/Henry Lascelles
Comments: 22
Kudos: 6





	1. slip

**Author's Note:**

> hey! listen! these can all be enjoyed as stand-alones OR you can enjoy them as a continuation of That Other Fic.  
> they'll all be somewhat different??? because...  
> yes.  
> you'll see.

Henry Lascelles had been avoiding Childermass for the better part of a week, making sure he was never alone in a room with him and finding excuses to leave the room soon after Childermass had entered them. Perhaps it was a bit undignified, especially since the reason he had agreed to go to Hurtfew Abbey was so he could keep Childermass from regaining too much of his influence over Mr Norrell. However, this had become a smaller concern as of late. His animosity towards the servant had changed in its nature, as had their relationship.

Lascelles was used to having the last word, of somehow always winning their arguments because he was a gentleman and Childermass was not. Lascelles made sure to never be the one to back away from an argument and to rather have Childermass kicked out than being the one to leave the room, even if the servant was needed when he was not. This dynamic, however, had changed. When the two of them were in the same room, Lascelles avoided making eye-contact, he never spoke to him and he was always the first to leave any room. He had become submissive, and it was undignified and he was ashamed of it.

That Friday, Childermass entered the library around noon, dressed in his shirtsleeves and with a tray of tea and biscuits in his hands. He put it down in front of his master and then sat down at his own, smaller desk, in the darker corner of the library. Lascelles had worked out a brilliant plan to avoid rousing anyone’s suspicion. He would never leave immediately after Childermass arrived, he would linger until some opportunity arose where could leave the room without the need to make up an excuse. Here was the tea! _Surely_ it would not seem strange that he would leave after the tea? While he could not make his way _to_ the library, he had quickly learnt that simply stepping out of it would lead him back to the main entrance of Hurtfew. It would be easy, really.

However, after they had finished their tea, Mr Norrell had asked Lascelles to proofread a few letters, and so he was forced to remain in the library for some time. He had only made it through a third of the first letter when he heard the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor and lost what little focus he had managed to retain. Childermass walked up to Mr Norrell’s desk, where he first put the tea things back on the tray, before placing his hands on the desk and leaning over it to exchange some quiet words with his master.

Lascelles told himself he was staring because he was angry. Whispering secrets while he was in the room! He was, however, not staring at Childermass’ mouth. He was staring at the way his breeches clung to his thighs and backside as he was bent over the table. He seemed to be arching his back more than necessary, Lascelles wondered if he was doing this to _tempt_ him? How foolish that would be! Lascelles would never be tempted by that disgusting man. He then found himself wondering if it was all the hours on that awful horse that had created those firm muscles? And how firm were they? He supposed he must have strong legs to perform some of the acts he had done only a week ago.

“Mr Lascelles!”

Mr Norrell’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts of green moss and blood. He felt something wet against his hand and cursed as he saw his ink-stained hand and the pool that had formed on the letter under him. Childermass turned his head towards him, and _smirked_.

Lascelles ignored the anger that started pulsing through his veins like a poison, and started cleaning up his mess. He had put a piece of cloth in the desk drawer when he had almost ruined a book with ink a couple of days ago. He dabbed at the letter and rubbed the stained cloth over his hand and he could feel both Mr Norrell and Childermass’ eyes upon him.

“You’re making it worse.” Childermass sounded amused.

Lascelles felt the vexation grow until he was ready to scream. To grab hold of that old collar and squeeze until Childermass could hardly breathe. He would spit in his face and then he would find something sharp and cut the smirk right off it. He would teach him respect. The chair fell over as he stood up.

“You are the servant here! Clean it up!”

A satisfying warmth spread in Lascelles’ body when he saw Mr Norrell return Childermass’ questioning look with a nod. He excused himself (of course he needed to wash the ink from his hands), quickly went to his bedchamber (to wash his hands), and decided to leave Hurtfew Abbey the next day.


	2. hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lascelles is distracted at a social gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've forgotten to add timelines and such because I have too busy. I've put the year in the fic! it's 1808!   
> it felt like a good year because nothing much happens.
> 
> also, this is true to canon except that dear Henry didn't visit Hurtfew until 1817 in the book. I TOOK SOME LIBERTIES.

While August of 1808 was one of the queerest months Henry Lascelles had ever experienced, September and October were wonderfully ordinary. He was back in London and back in the company of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen and he was important and he was _clean_. There had been dinners and gatherings and meetings and the duller sort of work. He had put certain events from Hurtfew Abbey behind, with some help from several ladies and a couple of gentlemen who he had fucked.

In late October, Mr Norrell (who was very easy to convince once Lascelles and Drawlight had listed all the reasons) hosted a dinner party. All had gone perfectly well, the food and drinks were complimented over and over again by the guests (ten gentlemen, Mr Norrell had refused to invite ladies as he did not quite understand them) and even Mr Norrell had seemed rather pleased (indeed, he had even started several conversations without the aid of Lascelles and Drawlight) with the evening.

Lascelles had been in a very bright mood until they had all gone to the parlour to enjoy a glass or two of sherry wine after the last course was eaten. He had barely enjoyed half a glass of sherry before John Childermass strode into the room and pulled Mr Norrell to the side. How utterly appalling! To take such liberty when this was clearly a gathering where no servants were allowed, they had even taken to pouring their own drinks to avoid such company!

Childermass had pretended to only want to share some words with Mr Norrell, but when Mr Norrell asked him to stay for a drink, he had not declined. Clearly he knew that Mr Norrell would ask him to stay, clearly he knew that neither Drawlight nor Lascelles would want to oppose Mr Norrell in this company. Lascelles watched as Childermass, carrying his glass of sherry, walked over to a couple of gentlemen who were in deep conversation by the fireplace and to Henry’s shock, he joined the conversation and soon the two gentlemen laughed at something he had said. How infuriating it was, the entire world seemed to forget that John Childermass was a servant and had no place here.

“And what did you think of it, Mr Lascelles?”

Lascelles whipped his head around when he heard his name and was met by two puzzled set of eyes. Lord Portishead and Mr Norrell had been engaged in a conversation with him and he had been distracted. Damn him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It was your first time, was it not?”

Lascelles felt something cold take hold of him, it was as though his blood had stopt running and he was slowly turning to ice. Surely this could not be happening? Surely this was a joke? Why had he told Lord Portishead of all people?

“It has always been a wish of mine to see the great library with my own eyes, but as you know, work keeps me busy as such, so I was hoping you might give me your impressions.”

His first time at Hurtfew Abbey. He let out a short laugh as the feeling of fear was replaced by relief. He had already told several people of this, and so had a well-practised speech, full of exaggerated praise and modest lies. He was drawn into the conversation again and soon forgot about the servant. Some time later Mr Norrell and Lord Portishead were engaged in a dreary conversation on some old magician and Lascelles excused himself to go and freshen up his drink.

He had just pulled the stopper from the bottle when another glass was placed next to his. Lascelles recognized those hands very well. Long and bony fingers and nails a bit too sharp and - the stopper slipped from his hand and Childermass caught it when it rolled off the table.

“You seem a bit tense, Henry.” Childermass said as he offered the stopper back to Lascelles.

“Sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are to call me “sir”! And I will NOT be pouring wine for you.”

Childermass sighed, rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle out of Lascelles’ hand.

“You will ruin Mr Norrell’s party, Henry. Do try to show some manners.”

He filled both their glasses and then turned back around, his back to the drink table and his face looking over the room. Lascelles, feeling quite at a loss for words, turned around and did the same. It would seem uncivilized if he simply left when a welcome guest wanted to speak to him.

“I have nothing to say to you.” Lascelles said, his voice a bit lower so the rest of the room would not hear. Manners and appearances, the two things he usually excelled in but which he seemed to forget so easily when Childermass was near.

“Good.”

And then Lascelles could feel Childermass’ arm moving. The arm he had behind his back, was now moving and his hand was on Lascelles’ backside.

“What on earth are you-” a strangled noise escaped Lascelles’ lips as Childermass dug his fingers into his buttock.

“Shhh, people will stare.” Childermass whispered and when Lascelles looked over he saw that awful smirk and those dark eyes and Lascelles was glaring until his eyes fluttered shut when his hand moved just a bit. Even with layers of clothing separating their skin from touching, Lascelles struggled to keep quiet. When Childermass spoke again, his voice was low and deep and it vibrated right through Lascelles’ body and right to his cock.

“There are so many ways I could make you scream, Henry.”

The hand on his breeches was rubbing between his buttocks now, not quite reaching because of the fabric but enough for Henry to feel pressure and friction against sensitive skin. And oh did he feel it. His breathing had become quick and shallow and his anger seemed to have evaporated.

“So many ways I could make you come.”

Lascelles shakily lifted his glass to his lips and took a small sip, and then proceeded to put the glass down to steady himself against the table.

“Bruise your pretty skin and fuck your pretty face.”

Lascelles felt his breath get stuck somewhere in his chest, and he had to suck his lower lip into his mouth and bite down. Hard. Childermass seemed perfectly calm, his eyes trained on his Master and the rest of the room and sometimes taking a sip from his glass.

“Would you like that?”

Before Lascelles could respond, the hand was gone and Childermass spoke with his regular voice as someone approached their dark corner.

“Lord Portishead, I’ve been meaning to speak to you all night.”

The two men left Lascelles alone, uncomfortably aroused and absolutely furious. He turned around, facing the table again and fidgeting with the many bottles while waiting for his erection to go down. In the end, he had walked with his body half-turned towards the wall, out of the parlour and to the nearest private space, where he quickly unbuttoned his breeches and stroked himself. He did not last long, and as he came he thought about Childermass’ teeth on his skin.

When he returned to the party, Childermass was nowhere to be seen, but Drawlight seemed to have been most concerned about him.


	3. cusp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lascelles is angry and horny as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was originally called "fist" but I thought perhaps somebody would be disappointed in the lack of fisting.  
> anyway ENJOY.

Henry Lascelles considered himself successful. He was a rather wealthy gentleman, he had impeccable taste and manners, he was handsome and had many acquaintances, which in turn meant that he had access to stories (and lies) about all the important people of society. Additionally, being so handsome and clever, he had always been very successful when seducing ladies, and considered himself a very skilled lover. And now! Now he had become a close friend and advisor to Gilbert Norrell, one of the greatest men in England. He had no children (that he knew of) to bother him, no wife to consider and his family (mother, sister and nieces and nephews) was far away and he very rarely met them. He was independent and clever, though he had only recently begun to seriously study the history and theory of English Magic, he found that he was learning very quickly. He was surprised at how much he had enjoyed it at first, but then concluded that of course he enjoyed it, it was the most fashionable thing in the world, why should he not enjoy (and excel at) it?

In short, he was a very busy man with many things on his mind. There were, of course, other things on his mind. He was human. He had dark and cruel and sinful thoughts from time to time, they did not bother him, on the contrary, he rather enjoyed them when he found himself bored (which often happened in the company of Mr Norrell).These thoughts had, however, never interfered with his daily life before. He could control his thoughts and he could chose to focus on his work (or a conversation or anything else) and forget everything else.

On this night, the last Friday night (or perhaps it was Saturday morning already) of October, Henry Lascelles could not sleep. He had, in the past two months, found his mind being intruded upon by thoughts that he did not wish for, thoughts that he could not simply chose to ignore. And this night, the subject of those thoughts had done something so reprehensible, so utterly _wicked_ , that Lascelles’ thoughts were ridden with fury. John Childermass, the villain, had been intruding upon his mind. He had touched him most inappropriately (though any touch of his was of course inappropriate) and said such filth to him. In a room full of people no less!

This was the kind of thoughts that kept Lascelles up that night. Just as he thought he might finally fall asleep, he remembered why he had not yet fallen asleep and the anger returned to him. He turned onto his side and on his back and he fluffed the pillows and had a drink of water. Nothing helped. Nothing could get those terrible images out of his mind.

At last, he left his bed and brought out a small book and a pen and started writing his thoughts down. “It is not a diary!” he thought to himself over and over.

**'Were I to find myself alone with John Childermass I should show him what I am capable of. I should tell him what a disgusting creature he is, how lowly and incompetent. DISOBEDIENT, ARROGANT, USELESS SERVANT. I shall tie him to a chair and SPIT IN HIS FACE. I shall WEAR GLOVES for I could not stand to touch the FILTH that is CHILDERMASS with my bare hands. I shall teach him BETTER MANNERS. With my GLOVED HAND I shall form a fist and beat him until he BLEEDS. He shall BEG FOR ME TO STOP and I shall LAUGH then as he has laughed at me. But PERHAPS I will stop. Perhaps I shall stop BEATING him and fetch THE WHIP. He MIGHT BEG for me to NOT USE IT but I SHALL STRIKE HIM and the most wonderous of SOUNDS will be heard as WHIP MEETS FLESH and CHILDERMASS SCREAMS and I lay my GLOVED HAND upon him and HE WANTS ME TO LAY'**

Lascelles did not finish his writing, as he found himself in a desperate state of arousal. Closing his eyes, he rubbed himself to the thought of Childermass begging which quickly became thoughts of Lascelles begging which caused him to quickly stroke himself to completion. A state of relaxation settled in his body. He threw the soiled nightshirt upon the floor and the text he had written upon the fire. He then threw himself upon the bed and slept very deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I was writing Lascelles' little... DIARY ENTRY it kind of felt as though he was writing Childercelles fanfic and god he's such an asshole.


	4. bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lascelles is sick of Childermass' nonsense.

Lascelles had a plan. He was going to have a conversation with Childermass and it was going to end with Childermass apologizing to him. He would apologize for calling him “Henry”, for enchanting him in Hurtfew and for harassing him and making those appalling insinuations. He would then promise to keep quiet about what had happened and to never enchant him again. Most importantly, he would start treating Lascelles with the respect befitted one’s betters.

It was early in the morning and he had made his way to Mr Norrell’s house before its owner was awake to speak privately with Childermass. He was let in and led up two sets of stairs by a servant, who rapped his knuckles against what Lascelles could only assume was Childermass’ door.

“You up? Mr Lascelles is here to see you.” the man spoke loudly through the closed door, and Lascelles thought it rather rude to be using that tone when he was right next to him.

“Thank you Lucas, I’ll be down in a bit.”

Lucas gave Lascelles a look that seemed to say “sorry” while the shrug of his shoulders seemed to say “not my problem” and proceeded down the stairs, leaving Lascelles alone in front of the closed door. He was definitely going to discuss this behaviour with Mr Norrell later.

“You do know how to open a door, don’t you?”

Childermass’ voice was somewhat muffled through the thick wood, but Lascelles could still hear the venom in it. He entered the room, closing the door as quietly as possible. Childermass had his back turned to him and seemed to be preoccupied with a stack of papers on his desk.

The room almost exactly mirrored the image Lascelles had conjured up in his mind of what John Childermass’ private rooms would be like. There was nothing decorative in the room, and it seemed as though nothing had been done to make it appear brighter or bigger. A dark rug laid on the floor, but it looked old and worn, as one would expect from something belonging to a poor Northerner. It was only there to keep the cold away, nothing else. There were, however, three surprising things about Childermass’ room.

It was actually tidy. The bed (which Lascelles had, in fact, only looked at first because it was the largest object in the room) was made up with crisp white sheets, and barely looked slept in. He could not see any dust or dirt on neither floor nor furniture, and there were very few objects cluttering the surfaces. A candle, a glass, a comb and a jacket slung over the back of the chair. The room smelled of soap and leather and fresh air.

The second surprise was the bookshelf. Childermass was a servant who lived at the very top of the house, he would not have many visitors, so these books were most likely not for display. He had probably read all of them, and that made Lascelles reluctantly impressed with the modest collection.

“What can I do for you, Henry?” Childermass said with a bored tone.

“You could stop calling me Henry.”

The third surprise was the way Lascelles felt when John Childermass finally turned around to face him. He was not yet fully dressed and his hair was wet. He must have finished his toilet only moments before Lascelles arrived. He looked… clean. Lascelles found himself wondering if Childermass smelled as nice as he looked and before he could stop himself he let his gaze wander down Childermass’ body. His throat was starting to feel very tight and his neck very hot. Was he perhaps coming down with a flu?

“I could.” said Childermass slowly, with that sideways smile spreading across his face and raised eyebrows over dark eyes.

Had he moved closer? Lascelles felt a shiver go through his body – and he found that he was, in fact, not experiencing flu symptoms. His knees were growing weak and his cock was throbbing. He was being enchanted again!

“You will stop calling me Henry and you will apologize for casting spells on me!” he cried out, instantly berating himself for letting his frustration show.

Childermass let out a huff of laughter. “When have I ever cast a spell on you, Henry?”

“You are doing it right now!”

Before Lascelles could really comprehend what was happening, Childermass’ hands were on his shoulders and he was being pushed back against the door. Childermass smelled of soap and coffee and something ineffable and intoxicating.

“I would never waste magic on you.”

Childermass looked completely unfazed as he held Lascelles in place with one arm draped across his chest, while using his free arm to lock the door. His gaze was steady and his breaths calm. Lascelles’ body, however, seemed intent on betraying him: his eyes closed automatically when Childermass leaned closer, and when he was pinned between Childermass and the door, his hips instinctively moved forward to get even closer and a gasp escaped from his lips when Childermass placed a hand on his hip. Worse still was the sound that seemed to come from his throat when Childermass leaned in and whispered against his ear:

“Just tell me you want to me to fuck you.”

“Please.” Lascelles whimpered.

Childermass placed a series of light kisses along his neck, followed by light nibbles and teeth dragging across his skin. A flick of a tongue and a bite so close to his pulse and Lascelles was ready to let him do anything.

“Thought so." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... love teasing Lascelles. IS THAT SO WRONG?


	5. whip

John Childermass was a sensible man who knew this was a bad idea. He had known it from the first time he had laid eyes on Henry Lascelles in the woods, weeks ago. He knew it was a bad idea and he could list a number of reasons why he should leave before it was too late. He was sensible, yes, but Childermass was also a man who did not like opportunities to go to waste. And this? This was an opportunity that made his blood rush and his fingers itch and he had spent more time than he would admit, even to himself, thinking about the various opportunities he might have with Lascelles.

He knew it was a bad idea, and yet here he was, knocking on the door on Bruton-Street. He was somewhat surprised when Lascelles himself opened the door. Still fully dressed, even though it was nearly midnight. Had he been waiting for him?

“Henry, are you quite alone here?” Childermass brushed past Lascelles and into the apartment.

“Emerson left hours ago. I would never have opened the door if I knew it was you.”

Childermass let out a quiet laugh and walked further into Henry Lascelles’ home without waiting for the other man to invite him. It was dark, no candles or fires, only the lights of London coming in through unnecessarily tall windows. He made his way past the shapes of furniture and potted plants, and found that the room felt both warm and welcoming. The floor was laden with carpets and Childermass assumed the windows were covered by thick curtains during the coldest months. He had expected the apartment to feel more like Lascelles himself. Cold and with little to no character.

“Are you daft?” Lascelles’ voice came from somewhere behind him, clearly upset and just a bit shrill. “You are dragging _filth_ into my home. ONTO MY CARPET!”

“You never offered to-” Childermass found himself being interrupted by Lascelles’ hand pushing against his arm, his fingers pulling at the fabric of his overcoat. “REMOVE YOURSELF FROM MY CARPET NOW!”

“Ah.” Childermass felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he bit it back when he turned around to face Lascelles. Though he could not see the other man’s face clearly, he was sure it was all sharp and reddening and commanding. Childermass wrapped his fingers around Lascelles’ slim wrist and, perhaps using a bit more force than necessary, moved it away from his coat. They stood still, facing each other while Childermass kept a firm grasp on Lascelles’ wrist.

Childermass knew it was a bad idea, and perhaps that is why he put his free hand on the back of Lascelles’ head, twisted his fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. He knew it was a bad idea, but the part of him that cared about such things seemed to have been replaced by this urgent need to have his way with Henry Lascelles. He licked his lips before he leaned in, close enough to feel Lascelles’ quick and sharp breaths against his mouth.

“Do you really care about the carpet, Henry?”

Lascelles chose not to speak. He pulled against Childermass’ hand, though it was difficult to tell if he was trying to get closer or further away. It was a bad idea, but Childermass still kissed Lascelles, and found the other man’s mouth much softer and more compliant than expected. When he teased Lascelles’ mouth open with his tongue, he could taste coffee and port. The mixture of bitter and sweet and alcoholic sent shivers down his spine and the feeling of Lascelles’ warm tongue against his own made his already hard cock twitch. He had waited long enough. He pulled Lascelles’ head back with a sharp tug at his hair and hissed into his ear. “Show me your bedchamber.”

Childermass kept his grip on Lascelles’ wrist as they hastily stepped through the apartment. The bedchamber was lit by a several candles and a bright fire. Good. He wanted to see everything. He pushed Lascelles onto the bed and shrugged out of his coat.

“Take your clothes off.”

As Lascelles started working on the many buttons on his clothes, Childermass bent down to pick up the object he had been carrying under his coat. A rush of heat went through his body as he moved to the foot of the bed and held the whip up in front of Lascelles. He had to bite his lip to stifle a moan when he saw Lascelles’ eyes grow wide and dark. His fingers, now starting on the lower buttons of his shirt, fumbled and slipped and his tongue darted out to wet his lips and Childermass thought he could hear his breathing speed up. He reminded Childermass of a frightened rabbit.

“No one ever punishes or contradicts you, do they?”

Lascelles shook his head, and Childermass was sure he saw a bright blush move up his neck.

“People are kind and respectful to you even though you’re an absolutely vile human being.”

Lascelles jaw tensed up and he pressed his lips together and for a second it seemed as though he would protest. But he soon turned his gaze back down to the buttons right beneath his knees and nodded.

“So you know what I want to do.”

Lascelles looked up again, and for a brief moment, Childermass could see the curve of a small smile on Lascelles’ lips. He nodded again and then started pushing and pulling and untying until he was naked, keeping his eyes locked with Childermass’ the whole time.

“Face down.”

Lascelles’ eyes grew wide, but he obediently turned around and laid down. He rested his cheek against the lush red blanket and his arms on either side of his head, palms against the bed. He really was pretty. Pale and slim, bare and free from blemishes and scars, apart from some faint marks left from their tryst in the woods. A white canvas. It was a beautiful sight. Perfectly rounded arse and such slender legs and the thighs… Without a warning, Childermass brought the whip down on his thighs, causing Lascelles’ hips to instinctively jerk forward. Lascelles cried out, and the sound mingled wonderfully with the sound of leather meeting skin. A red line had already formed, creating a beautiful contrast against the pale skin.

“Christ.” Childermass muttered as he took in the sight before him. Lascelles was _whining_ , his hands were clasping the blanket and he was grinding his hips against the bed. More stunning still was the look on his face. Heavy eyelids, eyes glazed over and teeth digging into his bottom lip, most likely to keep more of those undignified sounds from coming out.

“I said I would make you cry.”

He brought the whip back up, and painted two more red lines on Lascelles’ thighs, and was instantly rewarded by hearing Lascelles crying out again, a sharp yelp followed by a long and low moan. His breaths were short and shaky and Childermass was pleased to see tears welling up in his eyes. While Childermass had originally only thought about pleasuring _himself_ , he was now entirely devoted to the task of making Lascelles come undone beneath him.

“Think about this when you see me in the library tomorrow.”

He brought the whip down again, landing a series of strikes on the reddening skin, watching as Lascelles writhed and cried and moaned. Before long, Lascelles let out a loud cry, and Childermass saw his muscles (and what lovely muscles they were) tense up before relaxing back into the bed. He wiped tears from his face with the back of his hand, mouth still open as he let out heavy breaths and soft moans. Childermass quickly opened the front of his breeches and after a few quick strokes he spilled his seed over Lascelles’ thighs and arse, revelling in the sound of the other man’s gasps as the liquid hit his sore skin. Childermass took a few moments to catch his breath before buttoning his breeches back up and climbing off the bed.

“What a mess you are, Henry.”

He pulled his boots back on, picked the coat up from the floor and gave Lascelles one last look before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait! Childermass! you forgot something!
> 
> if you're wondering what kind of whip it is, I have no idea.  
> the book just says "whip" so I'll let you decide.  
>  _use your imagination._


End file.
